Dead Man's Diary
by EpicThoth3's
Summary: Today is Isabella's eighteenth birthday. She won't be celebrating it, of course. Why would she? Not after what happened five years ago. A short story that should make you cry, but leave you smiling, because hope is always at its strongest when life is at its worst. Cover image reads: "Give light, and the darkness shall disappear of itself." (Desiderius Erasmus)
1. Lifeless

**EpicThoth3 here, with a new story that should make you cry. If it does not you are heartless. It's called _Dead Man's Diary_ for a reason. Short chapters, first person POV, and extremely sad. This should be good.**

**P.S. The quote from the cover reads, 'Give light, and the darkness will disappear of itself.' (Desiderius Erasmus)**

* * *

Today is Isabella's eighteenth birthday. She won't be celebrating it, of course. Why would she? Not after what happened five years ago.

I want to scream out that I'm right here, right outside her window, but I don't. She can't hear me. Nobody can. They can't see me, either. Or touch me. But I'm here. From this position on the street, I can see her looking out her bedroom window, at my house. Her eyes are red - she's been crying.

A car zooms by, passes right through me. I don't mind it. Over the last five years, I've grown used to it. Another of the many lasting effects of... whatever it was that happened on her thirteenth birthday. That event which changed our lives forever.

No, I can't tell you what happened that day, five years ago. I can't tell you because I'm not entirely sure myself. We all were having a great day up until it happened. It's like I just... _disappeared_ from the world entirely, left it without a trace.

But that's not what anyone would tell you. If you came to my town and asked about me, people would point to an oak tree, just like the one in my backyard.

But this one isn't in my backyard.

It's at the top of a hill.

In a cemetery.

They point you there because beneath it, a gravestone bears my name.

They point you there because they think I am dead.

But I'm not dead. I'm just... _lifeless_.

* * *

**If you were wondering, yes, this was my attempt at making a bipolar story. The kind that gets reviews like, 'I hate you. Write more.' If you leave a review like that, I will not blame you.**


	2. Incomplete

**I think this will be the shortest chapter of the story. But it's a sad one, so get your tissues ready.**

* * *

As a tribute to my memory, they never—_never_—build anything fun or do anything awesome over the summer.

That's not quite true. They have fun—or at least they try—but never to the same standard set at thirteen. They say that projects like those are incomplete without me. That partaking in those endeavors without me is like being in an episode of _Pinhead Pierre _without Pinhead Pierre.

I hate it.

Remembering me by not continuing what I loved—what _they_ loved—is not remembering me at all.

I feel like they're trying to remember me by leaving behind every mark I made on their lives.

I bring this up not because I want to still be in their lives, or because I'm self-centered, but because they haven't smiled in five years. And if I was the only reason they ever smiled, then it is _definitely_ wrong for them to forget about me.

* * *

**Yeah, it's very out of character, but face it, who wouldn't be in this situation?**

**~Review! If you please. (That's my new closure now.)**


	3. Happiness

**Why do I even need to say that I don't own Phineas and Ferb?**

**You know what? I'm going to try answering guest reviews in the story. Let's see how it goes. If I like it, I might start answering all reviews this way.**

**shadowstalker: That's only because it hasn't gotten sad yet.**

**Dreadwing216: Might I suggest reading the summary? "But leave you smiling," it says.**

**Guest: Don't worry. The saddest is yet to come.**

**O: No comment.**

**ILSHYBMLY: Might I recommend a box of tissues? And you're not the only person who feels "ILSHYBMLY" towards me.**

**Em: Is this more enough for you?**

* * *

I still remember the last time anyone was happy. It was Isabella's thirteenth birthday, and it was supposed to be the best day of her life. Indeed, it _was_ the best day of her life, if not for one thing. And no small thing, either.

I remember I was already in her kitchen when she came downstairs, making pancakes. I had shaped eight of them into different letters, and arranged them to spell her name. Then I topped each one with whipped cream, and placed thirteen candles into the finished product.

I remember she was surprised to see me. Very surprised. But I also remember that while I was distracting her in the kitchen, Ferb and the others were sneaking into her bedroom and renovating that.

I remember that they had all insisted I be the one distracting her, though it wasn't until later that I found out why.

I remember suggesting that we go upstairs to her bedroom, and I remember Isabella's anxiety as we did. But I even more clearly remember her wide eyes and gigantic smile when she saw her bedroom, loaded floor to ceiling with birthday presents and boasting an entirely new look.

I still remember her look of amazement as she opened each of the different presents. I remember Baljeet got her a math book, Buford gave her a coupon book, and Ferb gave her a scrapbook filled with different pictures of me and her together throughout the years. But I didn't get her a book. I remember designing the renovation of her room, and also building her a small arsenal of new inventions.

But I can never remember what they all do. Isabella never uses them anymore.

I remember that we then took her to the park, where the Fireside Girls had organized and set up a birthday party for her.

I remember that Isabella looked overwhelmed by it all, even though she denied it when I asked her.

I remember that she later confessed that her only wish that day was for the rest of it to be just like the start, when she had eaten pancakes alone with me.

A wish that can never come true now, be it her birthday or any other day.

Little did I know that her smile when we brought out the cake, or her laugh when my voice cracked during the birthday song, was to be her last.

* * *

**What a haunting last sentence.**

**Review! If you please.**


	4. Perfection

**Why do I even need to say I don't own Phineas and Ferb?**

**Guest reviews!**

**Dreadwing216: I don't want to confirm anything for now, so [insert].**

* * *

After the party, we went to my backyard. Me, Isabella, Ferb, Baljeet, and Buford. The subject of discussion, naturally, was Isabella. How was her birthday so far? Had she been enjoying it? What was her favorite part? Did she like her presents?

Isabella was more than happy to answer these questions, as she was more than happy on that day. Maybe that is why I remember it so well. I hope it is, because it is more likely not her happiness that I remember this day for.

It was never her happiness which that day is remembered for.

This day will always be remembered as the worst day in her life. As the worst day in everyone's life.

It was never supposed to be that way. Never.

I remember asking her, "What can I do to make your birthday perfect?"

"What are you willing to do?" she had asked.

"I'd be willing to do anything," I told her.

"Anything?" she inquired, her eyes shining with a glimmer of hope.

"Anything," I confirmed. "What wouldn't I do for you?"

And that was how my final conversation with Isabella ended.

The last thing I remember before life as I knew it changed forever was glimpsing a green ray out of the corner of my eye.

* * *

**~Review! If you please.**


	5. Scarred

**Let's ignore the fact that EVERYONE is pointing fingers at Doofenshmirtz when it could just as easily be Rodney or Poofenplotz and answer some guest reviews...**

**shadowstalker: No comment.**

**Guest [1]: Okay. Here you go.**

**Dreadwing216: Okay. Here you go.**

**Guest [2]: No comment AND okay. Here you go.**

**Why do I even need to say that I don't own Phineas and Ferb?**

* * *

I don't remember the green ray hitting me. But what happened when it did will remain with me forever. There is nothing in the world more scarring than what I saw.

I was waiting for Isabella to answer my question. I was not expecting her to gasp and scream, "Phineas!"

Nor was I expecting Ferb, Baljeet, and Buford to do the same.

I didn't feel any different, so I was left wondering what they were screaming about. I remember asking what the problem was.

Nobody answered me. It looked like they didn't even hear me.

Instead, they rushed over to my body, which had slumped over onto the ground. I found that weird, because I felt like I was still standing. I will never forget what I saw when I looked down.

Below me I saw my own body, lying limp on the floor. The face had gone pale, the skin looked cold, and the eyes were void of all color. There I lay, perfectly still, unmoving.

Lifeless.

A scary sight for anyone to see, much less the person whose body it was. To see myself in that state was scarring, and an image I will never forget, even if I spend the rest of eternity trapped in this shell.

Isabella ran over to my limp body and picked up, shaking it, begging me to wake up. The others were also there, right behind her. When I didn't awaken, she checked my pulse. She tried CPR and listened for a breath. Then she put her head on my chest and wept.

_"What wouldn't I do for you?"_ my last words had been.

She was, I discovered, about to ask me to become her boyfriend.

* * *

**So sad. We almost had Phinbella. Almost.**

**~Review! If you please.**


	6. Unforgettable

**Let's take a dive here. Guest reviews!**

**Dreadwing216: Or something like that.**

**The-Snowy-Owl-13: Don't worry. It gets worse. Before long, I'll have you weeping.**

**ISLSHYBMHYN: I can live with that XD. Hopefully you'll BMLYN by the end of the story. I think you now what that means.**

**Why do I even need to say I don't own Phineas and Ferb?**

* * *

The autopsy could not pronounce me dead.

But the doctor could.

Nobody has ever been able to say with certainty what killed me, and I would argue that I am not even dead.

Not unless the afterlife is actually a curse to wander around for eternity.

Isabella's thirteenth birthday was bound to be unforgettable. But I had never imagined it to be remembered for what it is now.

Since then, a great many things have changed. None of them for the better.

They have given up creating, smiling, laughing, enjoying, having fun. It seems that their only purpose now is to sulk. I don't know what prompted this reaction. It should never have turned out like this.

Perry, I discovered, is a secret agent, but now treats his daily job like a strenuous chore which he would rather not get involved in.

Isabella, I also discovered, loves me. _Loved_ me, she would correct, if anyone brought it up. But after five years of thought, I can say for sure that the feeling is mutual.

Baljeet has not been his brainiac self since the accident, nor has Buford laid a finger on anyone.

Ferb has assumed the role of talker, but each word he says is now laced with emptiness.

Candace seems to have lost all enthusiasm for everything. The passion which she held an abundance of is now gone, replaced by an unbelieving pessimist.

All around me, I can see nothing but brokenness, lostness, and hopelessness. The ingenuity, joy, and eagerness which had been abound is now gone.

How was I the catalyst to all this? What have I done?

If only they knew I wasn't dead. But I have for five years tried telling them that. I can't.

I feel like Schrödinger's cat.

Dead _and_ alive.

* * *

**For those of you who haven't heard of Schrödinger's cat, look it up. Simply put, it's a paradox developed by some guy named Schrödinger where a cat is trapped in a box with a slowly killing poison, and since you don't know how long the poison takes to kill, the cat is dead and alive until the exact moment that you open the box to find out. Or something like that.**

**~Review! If you please.**


	7. Vision

**Guest reviews!**

**Em: What? You're _thanking_ me for writing more to this?! I did not see that coming! Shrödinger's cat is pretty fun, though. And I'm glad you're crying (what did I just say?). **

**Shadowstalker: If you're wondering why Phineas is around stalking his old friends (though I wouldn't call it stalking), ask yourself where you would be if you weren't dead. And I agree: Phineas is the heart and soul of the show, but Phineas's friends and family are the heart and soul of Phineas. It just isn't the same without him. This story has no specified length as of yet; I'm still experimenting with how far short chapters can take me. It will almost certainly break the 20-chapter barrier, but I'm not sure about the 30.**

**Why do I even need to say that I don't own Phineas and Ferb?**

* * *

For five years I have been looking for a solution, hoping to lift the curse which has plagued me, my family, and my friends.

I have found nothing.

The closest I have gotten to a clue is a certain Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz. He builds machines every day which often fire random green lasers. But he's just not wicked enough to come up with the green ray which did me in.

My friends have given up. It seems that without me, their life has no purpose.

"Never give up," I told them many times over. I thought they had taken that message to heart, when instead, they had affiliated it with my person. Therefore, without me, there is no pressing forward.

Why did they react this way?

"Summer belongs to you, and to everyone," I told them as well. Another of my core beliefs. Yet nowadays their summers are empty, devoid of all enjoyment. So strongly had they linked those ideals to me that now without me, my vision is meaningless. They treat it like a solemn duty to do nothing fun over the summer. I suppose to them, it is their solemn duty to do nothing fun.

I wish, just once, that they would build something—anything—for their enjoyment. Anything to make them smile.

To make me smile.

I had always hoped that my vision would transcend my being, that people would see my footprints and realize that they, too, could walk that same path. But everyone treats those footprints now like a minefield: never meant to be tread upon.

They are protecting my memory, not embracing it. And that is the worst way to honor the dead. Or the not dead.

* * *

**~Review! If you please.**


	8. Lullaby

**I don't know if this should really count as a chapter in the story. It's really just me raging about an injustice in the real world that not enough people know about. And, while this is a specific example I give here, this sort of thing happens all the time in the ever-so-fickle entertainment industry. I don't like it one bit. So this chapter came to be.**

**Why do I even need to say that I don't own Phineas and Ferb? Or the Academy Awards? Or the school to which the children go? Or to any other thing mentioned in this chapter which can actually be found in life?**

**Guest Reviews!**

**Dreadwing216: It emphasizes Phineas's sense of abandonment, and fast forwards the story five years.**

**Cupcake Killer3: Well, then. I don't want to spoil the ending, but may I refer you to this story's summary? Oh, and can you get me a scoop of mint chip while you're there?**

**Phineas A: No comment. That would spoil stuff.**

**LoveYouEpicThoth: So much praise over Shrodinger's Cat! And you have to change your guest name to "LoveYouEpicThoth3's" now because I changed my pen name to make it funnier and more awkward for anyone mentioning me.**

**ISLSHYBIDEKN: Me neither...**

* * *

A few years ago, there was a true Hollywood miracle. A certain public school in New York, whose students were among of the poorest of the poor, developed a nationally recognized chorus, and were invited to perform at the Academy Awards. It was a beautiful moment, to see these fifth-graders who had never in their wildest dreams imagined _seeing_ the red carpet, now walking the velvet pathway, singing in front of a tearful nation. Everyone agreed that they were great singers with a bright future ahead of them.

Not one of the many talented kids of that award-winning chorus were able to go to a middle school with a music program. Not one.

They had sung on the very highest level in fifth grade, but were immediately afterwards cut off from music entirely. One can only imagine the thoughts running through those children's minds right now. To be famous, and then to be nothing.

Is that not what happened to me?

Was I not the boy who traveled the world, only for the world to cut me off? Who ended a second ice age, only to be frozen out by a mental one?

The song those children performed at the Academy Awards was 'Over the Rainbow', a song all about how dreams can come true. Immediately afterwards their dreams were shattered.

How cruel life is!

There is a world out there to be seized, to be loved, to be enjoyed. But that only ever happens '_once in a lullaby_.'

* * *

'**Once in a lullaby' are some of the lyrics from the song 'Over the Rainbow'. Those kids from PS22 in New York are starting high school this year. They've disappeared entirely ever since their famous performance. I call it "The Hometown Effect" because people who get a chance to be famous will more often then not end up back where they started, regardless of whether or not they did well.**

**~Review! If you please.**


	9. Passionless

**I thought you readers deserved a prolonged period of non-sadness, so I waited to post this one.**

**Guest reviews!**

**Phineas A: It is something of a mystery, I guess. What really happened to Phineas? Will we find out? The answers it these questions and more will follow. Also, I called this story "Dead Man's Diary" because it is the transcription of the thoughts of a person in the afterlife. The diary of a dead man, if you so choose.**

**shadowstalker: Me too! Why do you think I wrote so much of this?**

**Dreadwing216: Might I refer you to the summary? Your hopes might be raised.**

**Guest: I'll have to look into it. He might have copied my idea. Or not.**

**LoveYouEpicThoth: Did I mention how much I love your reviews? Well, I do. They even get a special mention on my profile page, and never fail to make me laugh. And it's okay to leave the '3' out. I'm pretty sure I am the only one whose username starts with 'EpicThoth'.**

* * *

Today I decide to follow Perry through his day, but mainly because I want to avoid everyone else. It breaks my heart to see them, today more than ever. On this, the fifth anniversary of my death, there will be no happiness within them.

Nobody will wish Isabella a happy birthday today. They will simply remind her that she is a year older.

"Eighteen, huh?" they will ask. She will simply nod in response.

Or: "It's your birthday. Have... cake."

They go out of their way to avoid congratulating her. It's what she wants.

I don't belong in an environment so devoid of life, of excitement.

And even though Perry is now a cold, empty agent, missing all the passion which he must have had before, his day will be better than the alternative.

I know he's missing the passion because Doofenshmirtz complains of it.

"What happened to you?" he'll ask occasionally. "You used to be so much fun as a nemesis. Now you're just like a robot programmed to destroy me."

"I'll be your nemesis," Norm will occasionally interject, but Doofenshmirtz shrugs him off, saying, "You couldn't teach a vampire to suck your blood."

But even though Perry is passionless, heartless, I will follow him. So I sulk over to where the platypus lies now, waiting for him to start moving.

* * *

**If it feels like—gah! I keep typing lime there!—anyways, if it feels like this story is dragging on and on without going anywhere, note that at my normal preferred length we would just be getting into chapter two. So don't worry. The plot is coming, and soon.**

**~Review! If you please.**


	10. Indifference

**My Christmas gift to FanFiction: a sad story. Kind of like the Nutcracker ballet, but if you only include the part where the Nutcracker dies. Yeah, no dance, music, or pirouettes in this part.**

**Guest Reviews!**

**Phineas A: Ah, I see you are the latest victim of the feels.**

**LoveYouEpicThoth: The only expectations that matter are your own. Me, I have none for you. Do what you please. I can't stop you from putting me ahead of school every one or two months, although at times you leave me wondering if that's a low-end estimate.**

**Why do I even need to say that I don't own Phineas and Ferb?**

* * *

It's not long before Perry does sulk down towards his lair, his hat on his head.

What goes on in his lair is of no matter to me, however. I've seen it before, and I'd rather not again.

Major Monogram seems to be one of the few who had not changed for the worse since my disappearance. Rather, he didn't change at all, or even seem to register that I had moved on.

Not that that should come as a surprise, as he only knew me as Agent P's host family. The man is indifferent to all that which does not affect him. And, while I would have preferred indifference over everyone else's reaction, the scale to which Major Monogram removed his emotion from the outside world is astonishing.

Nobody should be that unfeeling. Even Doofenshmirtz didn't do evil—or what he felt qualified as such—for a week after I passed.

Doofenshmirtz is perhaps the only other person who did not react negatively.

I wish everyone I knew aspired to be more like him.

All I see around me is brokenness, and while indifference is not perfect, it is a step in the right direction.

When Perry reemerges from his hideout, he is in the hover-car, headed towards the landmark purple building. I follow.

* * *

**You heard the man. Be more like Doofenhmirtz. In other words...**

**~Review! If you please.**


	11. Chance

**Pretty significant chapter this time. Just shy of 300 words, and contributes an awful lot to the plot. Why do I even need to say that I don't own Phineas and/or Ferb?**

**Guest Reviews!**

**Phineas A: Well, I got just shy of 300 words to say. You listening?**

**LoveYouEpicThoth: I dont think there are too many other authors on this site with their own guest fangirl using said author's pen name. As for the reviews section, I knew you were at least three of those five. Don't worry too much about it. Really. Okay, so I was a little surprised they were all you. But in retrospect, should I have expected anything less from a girl under the alias of LoveYouEpicThoth?**

* * *

When I see Perry at the distinguished purple building, he is already trapped in what Doofenshmirtz calls a figloo. An igloo made of figs, apparently. Furthermore, the scientist is already explaining his next evil scheme, and this time, Perry seems content to sit back and enjoy the show.

In his backstory, Doofenshmirtz explains how things just keep disappearing all around him, Pretty significant chapter and he can never find them again. Some of these things—like his Tickle-Me-Momo—he was really close to.

Ultimately, what he ended up designing was a _Communicinator_, designed to make anything invisible and inaudible able to communicate with him. Doofenshmirtz goes on to concede that he hasn't really found any evil applications for this as of yet, but he's thinking.

Perry is eating his way out of the figloo right now.

Neither of them are thinking about me. Good for them.

And Doofenshmirtz finds his evil application.

He intends to use this _Communicinator_ to help everyone find their missing things, and make an evil fortune off of it. He then immediately turns on the machine.

Wait a minute.

Wait just a minute.

The gears must be turning in my head, because I am now thinking perhaps the craziest thought ever dreamt up.

Of course, the jury is still out on whether the gears are turning properly.

I am one of those "missing things". I might be able to send a message through that device.

It is not much, but it is a chance.

Maybe, just maybe, a step can be made towards making things right.

This is a chance I cannot afford to miss.

Perry is out of his trap now. It won't be long before Doofenshmirtz is defeated, and the _Communicinator_ destroyed. I don't have much time.

...

How do I talk again?

* * *

**Yes. That just happened. Besides, if you said nothing for five years, do you think you would remember how to talk? Yes? Well how about if those five years started at thirteen? Still yes? I should hope not. Scientists have researched this phenomena. Apparently the only reason we can still speak is because we have spoken.**

**~Review! If you please.**


	12. Words

**Oh, I love this chapter. It was such fun teaching a grown man to talk. But seriously, why do I even need to say I don't own Phineas and Ferb?**

**Guest review!**

**Dreadwing216: Yes. Yes there is. But a slim possibility at that, because is there any other kind in books?**

* * *

When I first was struck by that green ray, I carried on talking, hoping people could hear me.

Of course they couldn't. They couldn't even see me.

Or touch me.

Why would they be able to hear me?

I quickly realized that I could not even hear my words. I was quieter than the trees around me. At least they swayed in the wind.

It took me no more than three months to stop talking altogether. What was the point?

Even Ferb in his life has never been as silent as me these past five years.

What I am just discovering now is the consequence of this all.

After not talking for so long, I cannot remember how to make a noise.

I am supposed to move my mouth, but I also remember that the mere action wasn't enough.

Were there any throat muscles involved?

Stomach muscles?

I try exhaling loudly to see what that creates, but my breath is no more audible than I have been.

The fight between Perry and Doofenshmirtz is nearly over now. I must remember. Quickly.

It can't be any of my limbs which forms words...

Can it?

Of course, it could always be that I cannot talk through the Communicinator, but if I cannot even remember how to make a noise, I will never know.

I lean closer to the microphone in the device, which Perry is seconds from destroying, and try again.

"Uhh..."

I gasp at the noise. But then I wonder if it was I who made it. Looking around, I see nobody. But then, nobody can see me. Perhaps I can not see them.

How could I forget the sound of my own voice?

No. I have to believe it was me. What else could have made the noise?

Now, which way do my lips move again?

I remember my tongue had something to do with it as well. What constitutes a letter?

I glance up. Doofenshmirtz makes a desperate last attack, but it only buys me another moment. Even now Perry is coming over here to destroy the very machine which could save my life. Or renew it.

In desperation, I smack my lips together, hoping to make some recognizable sound.

"Puh..."

That's right! Then I...

As Perry reaches for the self-destruct button, I make one last groan, praying that he will get the message.

"Perry..."

* * *

**I will leave the rest to your imagination. And the next chapter.**

**~Review! If you please.**


	13. Normal

**Why do I even need to say I don't own Phineas and Ferb?**

**Guest reviews!**

**Guest: My, how aptly named you are! I suppose it was hope. And I will stop later.**

**Jessica.V: Hopefully this is soon enough.**

**Martin: Much obliged.**

**LoveYouEpicThoth: I wonder, to what will you change your username? You knows, very relationship has its ups and downs. Even one-sided ones. (Yes, that was just me kidding. Only the first sentence then was legitimate.)**

* * *

The Communicinator explodes. Perry's hand could not be stopped.

But neither could my voice.

Perry stops dead, his eyes wide.

He didn't believe what he had heard. How could he?

"Curse you Perry the—" Doofenshmirtz cries, before stopping, realizing that the platypus is standing frozen.

"Did you hear the voice, too?" he asks tentatively.

I know it now, beyond doubt. I spoke, and I was heard. My groan, a sign to the living.

Perry recognized my voice. My call to him.

Doofenshmirtz may not recognize it, but Perry is thinking about something that—in his mind—far transcends thwarting any deed of his.

And, since my pet keeps a toolbox in the same place he does his hat, Perry pulls that toolbox out now, and looks at the broken Communicinator, thinking of how to fix it.

This is good. With this machine fixed, I can be heard. Maybe, just maybe, a solution can be found.

I can live. Things can return to normal.

What even _is_ normal?

All I can say about normal is that it is not it is now.

This—everything which I, and which we all are going through—is not normal.

That is one thing I must figure out if it all works out.

No. Not _if_.

One thing I remember about normal was that the same rock can be an obstacle or a challenge. I must look towards the future, not against it.

Normal is one thing I must figure out _when_ it all works out.

What was it that had been said at my funeral?

_Better to die with a smile than live without one_.

Again: if I was the only smile in everyone's lives, what sort of lives were they living behind my back?

* * *

**Surprise, surprise. Things are starting to change.**

**~Review! If you please.**


	14. Irreparable

**Can I just say that the popularity of this story is really shocking? Already it's surpassed almost all of my other stories in terms of reviews and total views! Maybe it's the short chapters. Maybe it's the eye-catching summary. Maybe it's not popular, but so controversial that you can't help but read on to the conclusion. Maybe it's none of those. And maybe, just maybe, it's time for guest reviews!**

**Dreadwing216: the whole idea is that it is more interesting.  
**

**Jessica.V: I hope you didn't think I stopped. All I didn't do was update.**

**Iransomeone: how HAPPY this made you? I hope the happiness is just you enjoying a good story and not a sadistic smile from character death (ish). Unfortunately, I will eventually stop writing. But I call that day retirement, and that won't be for a while. Sorry for not updating soon.**

**Guest: My only wish is that you're not inspired to maybe kill someone.**

**LoveYouEpicThoth: I am so sorry...**

**James: you asked, I answered.**

* * *

"Are you trying to fix it, now?" Doofenshmirtz asks Perry.

My platypus, always single-minded, doesn't even look up.

"You won't fix it," Doofenshmirtz continues, almost apologetic. "Even I don't know how. I was stumped for a scheme today, so I ordered that one online for quick delivery."

Go figure. I thought his invention today was sub-par.

Of course, that doesn't stop Perry from trying.

"I can show you the order form," the scientist tries. "But apparently I bought the last one."

He puts a piece of paper next to Perry, who snatches it up and looks at it.

I may never know what was written on that piece of paper, nor will I ever need to.

But I do know the effect it had.

As reserved as he could be in this moment, Perry tucked the paper into his hat, then left the building without making a sound.

He didn't even make so much as a dent in the apartment on his way out.

I know that whatever was written on that piece of paper was the evidence Perry needed to do just that.

And, no matter how painful the evidence, I can count on Perry to know what he now must do.

I take one last look at the remains of the Communicinator. At the rubble scattered across the purple floor.

Even with my knowledge and experience I wouldn't know where to start reparations.

This machine—the last of its kind, apparently—will remain broken forever. It, along with my life now, is unfixable.

Irreparable.

* * *

**~Review! If you please.**


	15. Retired

**Vacation was fun (thanks for asking), but I know you want to get back to the good stuff. You know, guest reviews. Oh, and the story, of course, but also the guest reviews. So here goes.**

**Dreadwing216: Hey, good question! I've been asking myself that, too. I mean, Phineas's physical form has been decomposing underground for five years now. An obvious, yet probably unconsidered, complication. But hey, it's just a story, right?**

**percabeth0804: I hope you were willing to wait this long. It's just, vacation and all. Usually I'm quicker (not by much, but quicker). As for iCarly... I am so sorry to disappoint. I don't watch. But as long as we're on the subject of randomness, I'd just like to say... dolphins.**

**Iransomeone: Unfortunately, there are some serious grammatical issues with that sentence, mostly concerning the lack of a subject. If there was a previous sentence (which there wasn't in your case) where the subject was implicitly stated, you could probably sneak it by anyone but an English professor. But I hope you never worried I stopped writing. I haven't. Thanks for the compliment...and the other one, too. Oh, and that third one (I'd wish me the best as well! What a coincidence!). By the way, is your name spelled I-ran-someone, Iran-someone, I-ran-some-one, Iran-some-one, i-ran-so-me-one, or I-ransom-Eone? If it's that last one, who's Eone? And how much? Toodles!**

**Typical Reader: yeah, I get that a lot. Here, I wrote more. But I have no typical response. Believe it or not, this is ad-libbed! Yep, all of it!**

**Squideepoo: If I had a nickel for every time I get called creative... Or better yet, a dollar for every time I get called creative... I could buy so many candy bars I'd have to give them away. As for the whole Doof-killing-Phineas dynamic, there may or may not be an explanation. But for now, you'll see what Perry does. And be content with it. I hope. For now.**

**Guest: is that 'that's the end' as in you want it to be over or 'that's the end' as in I should just stop writing? I'll give you a hint: one of those answers I hate and the other I just don't like. But thanks for the review! It's always good to know my story is making people cry. (But when I put it like that...)**

* * *

I don't want to stay with the machine, or, for that matter, with Doofenshmirtz, so I continue to follow Perry.

I watch as he solemnly walks down all thirty-eight flights of stairs, then out the front door of the apartment. I watch him as he makes way to his hovercar, and hops in. I watch as he flies back to his lair in a way completely demeaning to the hovercraft.

I follow him into his lair, knowing that Major Monogram won't make an appearance. He has a limit of one per day.

In his lair, Perry does the last thing I expect him to.

He takes his watch off his wrist, and places it respectfully on the desk in front of his chair.

He takes off his hat, and with a regretful look, places it, too, on the desk.

Holding only that piece of paper in his hand, Perry heads out the door. With one, last, sorrowful look at his lair, he flips the light switch, and everything goes dark.

I know he will not come back.

I know that Perry the Platypus has now forever given up the title of Agent P.

He is leaving, never to return again.

Retired.

* * *

**Shocker. But if you think that's unrealistic, what would you do if you realized your dead best friend wasn't dead: devote all your resources to finding him, or keep gunning for a promotion and a new cubicle? My, how the scales shift...**

**Notice: if you bothered to read through all the guest review responses (which I don't recommend; those are publicly private) you spent more time reading my rambles than the actual story. In which case, let me ask you: what are you actually here for?**

**~Review! If you please.**


	16. Paper

**The last chapter must have been a real Debbie Downer, because aloose every reviewer needed a box of tissues and another update. Luckily, I was in a good mood.**

**Guest reviews!**

**Dreadwing216: Yep. That all happened. Except for Phineas coming back or not. One, and only one, of those will happen. Let's just hope you feel I have kept up the good work.**

**Guest: Yeah, sorry about that. It's kind of the idea with this one.**

**a phan: I see what you did there with the username... Well, here's your more. Take it or ignore it.**

**LoveYouEpicThoth: This will be a long review response, so be ready. Here goes: First and foremost, the last few chapters have been some of the worst from an emotional standpoint. It's possible the next few might remind you why you use that user name. Moving on, sadness sadness sadness is right, but the real reason I added Perry's retirement was to show that no matter what, family comes first. So it really was more bittersweet. With extra bitter. As for the é, you probably use a computer and I don't know how it works from there. However, I actually do about half of my work from an iPad, so I çåń gęt ßømë fãñčÿ characters in. But I can't work well with any of the formatting features on this site, so there's a trade-off. Next, you asked how long the story will be. As of right now, I have nineteen chapters typed and, discounting authors notes and guest reviews, am just over 5,000 words. My current projection for the story as a whole is 35-45 chapters and 8,000-12,000 words. However, right now I'm barely meeting my low-end prediction from then start of the story, so nothing is set in stone. As for sounding creepy, I've heard worse. Er, read worse. Now, onto your story. First, let me congratulate you on finding the inspiration to write a FanFiction. Then let me give you an even bigger congratulation for designing a plot map. I do most of my plot-mapping on my iPad because the touch screen interface allows me to connect ideas, shift scenes, juggle ideas, and brainstorm quickly without any trouble. But hey, any plot map is a million times better than no plot map. In fact, I'm about to tell you about a relatively unknown plot-mapping technique that has proven immensely helpful to me. First, make sure you finish the original plot map before you even start the story. There's no point in starting something you can't finish. When you finish the original plot map, also give yourself an estimate of about how many words and chapter you will need for the story. Now you can start writing, but don't think for a moment that you're done mapping. Because as you're writing, you will come up with some details too tiny to appear on the plot map. These give your story a more complete feel, and are a key component to any written work. However, it is also these same details which cause writers to get stuck as their story progresses. The best way to avoid this is to literally re-map your plot every chapter or so. Of course, by 'remap' I don't mean think through your idea all over again. I mean fill in some of the blanks, come up with the little details before you actually have to, a teeny bit at a time. Then go a little bit smaller, and even after that, just a little bit smaller. Thus, as you approach the final chapters, you'll notice the story itself is already almost entirely typed out for you in the plot map. Ta-da! No writer's block! And you know what? I'm flattered that you're modelling your writing after mine. And when writing the songs, perhaps the best tip that I can give you is that about seventy to eighty percent of the time, a pair of words have rhyming syllables, or can have their phrases be rearranged into a rhyme. Furthermore, don't limit yourself only to the rhymes listed in a rhyming dictionary. You'll come up with better results by using a thesaurus, and at the same time expand your diversity in vocabulary. Finally, bye. And good luck with that fanfic. If you do ever create an account to publish it, I'd be happy to beta read for you.**

**Oh, and guess what else? With LoveYouEpicThoth's latest review, Dead Man's Diary broke the 100 review barrier. Yayyy! That's a rate of almost 7 reviews per chapter—amazing! I love you readers!**

* * *

Ferb is reading a book in his bedroom when Perry walks in on all fours. He acknowledges the monotreme, but doesn't look up.

Perry chatters in response, and, after Ferb still keeps his head down, he chatters again.

This time, Ferb glances up at his pet.

"Usually you've gone by now," Ferb says, though he spoke mainly to comfort himself.

That's one thing I can still do after five years: read my brother perfectly.

"You must be feeling sentimental today," he continues, echoing his own feelings.

Of course, Perry by now is anything but.

Perry walks over and climbs up onto Ferb's lap. Ferb puts his book down and starts gently stroking the platypus, comprehensively failing to notice the paper in Perry's bill.

So the platypus dramatically spits the paper out, hoping Ferb will notice it now.

He does, and picks the paper up.

"Something caught in your throat, huh?" he asks Perry, expertly tossing the paper into the garbage.

That must have crossed some sort of line, because Perry the Platypus suddenly reveals his anthropomorphism to Ferb by leaping to the garbage can and fishing the paper out.

Ferb gasps.

"Perry! You can..."

Perry thrusts the paper into Ferb's hands, forcing Ferb to look at the print.

"A _Communicinator_?"

* * *

**Yeah, so after hitting a new low on the sad-meter last chapter, I figured you folks deserved something to cheer about. Of course, the alternative is the type of story where to truly crush someone's dreams, you must first raise their hopes very high.**

**~Review! If you please.**


	17. Searching

**So, Ferb is back. Yay! Or whatever. Let's move on to guest reviews.**

**a phan: The tension is real. So real. Really. It's tense. Intensely so. Really.**

**Dreadwing216: Well, hope does shine its brightest when life is at its darkest, so your point is valid. Good logic.**

**Why do I even need to say that I don't own Phineas and Ferb?**

* * *

"What is this?" Ferb asks Perry, but the platypus cannot talk.

Perry chatters, and nods to the laptop sitting closed on Ferb's desk.

Even without his uncanny ability to know what people are thinking, Ferb could guess Perry's intention. He flips up the laptop screen and logs in. Then, opening his browser, Ferb locates the website mentioned on the order form in his hand: _evilgenius . com_.

The top of the webpage repeats the company's name, with a slogan directly below it: _Even mad scientists have off days_. Clearly it is not a website for anyone looking to make the world a better place.

How ironic that it could be my ticket out of this misery.

Of course, Ferb does not know about any of this.

"What are you doing on these websites?" he asks Perry. "Does it have anything to do with your ability to walk on two legs?"

Perry decides that now is not the time for such questions. He takes over the keyboard and types in a few commands.

Now displayed on the screen is the Communicinator. _Everything has a voice, so why not listen?_ the page advertises. _Speak with the little devil on your shoulder, or the teddy bear across the room with the creepy smile, or even your dead grandmother if you're feeling sentimental!_

But directly below that is the demoralizing _sold out _notification.

Ferb's eyes fixate on the _dead_ part of the ad, and I can almost see the gears turning in that rectangular head of his. Suddenly, his eyes widen.

"Is this about Phineas?"

* * *

**Right now, I need to clarify that _evilgenius . com_ is one hundred percent fake. But FanFiction doesn't know the difference, so it's not letting me type it as I would in a search bar. Yeah, that is funny. Thanks for laughing. I hope it's with me, not at me.**

**~Review! If you please.**


	18. Neighbors

**I'll try and be brief with the author's note here. But there's a lot of**

**Guest reviews! This time.**

**Dreadwing216: That's funny, what you want me to add there. Probably too funny for this story. But it would fit right in with Chaos Law, if you want to check that out. I'll probably work it in (or something similar to that) somewhere over the next few chapters of that story.**

**a phan: Here's more. Sorry it took so long. However, I'm using only short chapters for this story. If you're lucky, the final chapter might be longer, but don't expect any of the other chapters to be like that.**

**Guest (ch. 11 review): Not exactly the sort of problem you'd consider, until it stares you in the face. Doesn't that just hit the feel-bone?**

**Guest (ch. 17 review): As much as I know you'd like one, I'm afraid I can't give you an Isabella POV chapter. It sort of contradicts the rest of the story, not to mention the title itself. The whole point is that this story is told exclusively from Phineas's POV, and switching to Isabella would ruin the authenticity of it.**

**LoveYouEpicThoth: Hoo, boy. Here we go again. Let's take it from the top. Thank you for the compliment! It feels great to pass 100 reviews! Good luck on starting to keep on starting. Ooh! Let me guess! Was it where Ferb comprehensively failed to notice the paper? Good news: more Ferb, coming up. And be around, when you can.**

**Iransomeone: Another long guest review! Let me shorten the response to: you're clearly bilingual, and that's clearly impressive. The only second language I know is "Google, how do you say [English phrase] in [foreign language]?". Thanks for all those compliments again. I can only hope I've done enough to deserve them.**

**Why do I even need to say I don't own Phineas and Ferb?**

* * *

Ferb may not have been able to learn the entire story, but he quickly figured out enough to realize that Perry—impossibly mobile Perry—thinks I can be resurrected. So what does he do first? He walks across the street and rings the doorbell, his laptop under his arm.

Isabella answers the door. "Ferb," she greets solemnly.

Ferb returns the greeting. "Isabella," he says.

"What are you here for?" Isabella asks.

"I'm here to wish you a happy birthday," Ferb replies.

"It's not happy," Isabella automatically reinforces. A force of habit by now—no birthday of hers can ever be happy. Not in her mind.

Strangely, Ferb remains silent. Ever since my death, he assumed the role of speaker in the group. But not now, apparently.

"My birthday can never be happy," repeats Isabella. "You of all people should know."

At this point, Ferb opens the laptop and shows her the screen.

"What if you were wrong?" he says mysteriously.

Isabella looks at the page and reads the information. "I don't get it," she ultimately decides.

"Who do we know that's dead?" Ferb prompts.

Isabella thinks about it for a moment. "Are you saying we could speak to Phineas?" she asks skeptically.

Ferb nods.

"Well, they're sold out," explains Isabella, attempting to dispel all false hopes. "So much for that happy you mentioned, Ferb."

"That doesn't mean we cannot make one," my brother muses.

Isabella takes another look at the laptop screen. "Come in," she instructs.

* * *

**...and just like that, the chapter's over. Umm... Yay! Isabella's thrown into the mix! Of course, she's clearly not the happy Isabella we've grown to love. So that's sad.**

**Question: Let's imagine that an alternate universe exists where Dan and Jeff are considering making one more episode of Phineas and Ferb. Would you rather they make a horror episode, filled with gruesome character death, intense sad scenes, and more similar themes, or would you rather they not make the episode at all?**

**~Review! If you please.**


	19. Morals

**Guest reviews!**

**Dreadwing216: I don't really have a major place slated for Gretchen in this story. But that doesn't mean it won't happen eventually.**

**Typical Guest: Non-canon, eh? I suppose that could work out...**

**riley decker: No. Just no.**

**akbar: I'm glad you enjoy it.**

**Guest (Ch. 6): Yeah. This is sad.**

**Guest (Ch. 8): And it's absolutely true.**

**Guest (Ch. 18): Okay. I won't make the episode. Not that I can, anyway...**

**LoveYouEpicThoth: (that's neat.) Let's read and find out what happens with Isabella. As for the grammar, 'whom' just doesn't roll off the tongue in the same way. It's more of an oral thing than a grammatical one. Episode-wise, your argument is valid. But there are arguments the other way (I don't want the show to end and I'll watch anything as long as it doesn't). Congratulations on the story! Hope it all goes well, and if you want me to beta I'd be more than happy.**

**Why do I even need to say I don't own Phineas and Ferb?**

* * *

Ferb and Isabella are sitting in her living room now, seriously discussing this Communicinator. For some reason, Isabella still seems reluctant to jump aboard. Mostly, she's worried about what I will make of this project.

"You want us to build a Communicinator?" she asks.

"Or anything to fulfill the same purpose," verifies Ferb. "I'm sure that we can figure something out."

"Yeah, but what will Phineas think of it all? Us building things without him? Are you sure it's what he wants?"

Yes! It is exactly what I want! It's _all_ that I've wanted these past five years, but you can't listen!

"If we give him a voice, surely he will forgive us," Ferb says.

You don't need forgiving for building this. You need forgiving for _not_ building anything else.

But they don't know that. How could they?

My actual thoughts aside, Isabella ponders Ferb's words a moment.

"I don't know, Ferb. Didn't we stop this all because we didn't want Phineas to miss out on any of the fun? Besides, how do we know it will even work?"

"Surely we could make it work," Ferb argues. "Remember what we were doing five years ago?"

"Back then we didn't know any better," Isabella complains. "We didn't know what we do now. We had no morals. At least not any grounded in reality."

Sure, because no fun without Phineas is a great moral to live the rest of your life by. Why is there even an argument to be made?!

Ferb must have been thinking on this as well, because his next words make the most sense he's made in five years.

"Actually, I'm beginning to question our morals now."

* * *

**Look at that! Ferb seems to be catching on! You'll just have to wait and see how this continues.**

**~Review! If you please.**


	20. Sentiment

**In this chapter, stuff happens. Spoiler alert. Also, I don't own Phineas and Ferb. Obviously.  
**

**Guest reviews!**

**LizzieFlynn200: Yep, Ferb rocks.**

**Dreadwing216: That's a long time to be reading a story. But it's not your fault, I guess. That said, I'll do my best to keep it going strong, right up until the very end. My only hope is that you agree.**

**LoveYouEpicThoth: Fact: writing your name in almost every author's note is fun for me. For a brief moment, I don't have to be humble. ****Of course, it's true that I probably should be updating this story more often than I am. The problem is, I'm catching up to where I've written, and I want to stay a few chapters ahead of the game. Maybe I'll find the time soon to crank out ten chapters straight of this. Then hopefully, I can update more frequently.**

* * *

"We won't, Ferb," Isabella says adamantly. "We can't."

"Can't what?" a new voice asks.

Isabella looks up. "Hey, Buford."

"You're eighteen now," Buford says. "I got the flowers. Baljeet's coming with cake."

Isabella smiles, barely. "Thanks."

"So what can't you do?" Buford repeats.

Isabella shrugs. "Oh, Ferb was having a sentimental moment."

Buford nods. "Today is... a tough day for everyone."

"It's not sentiment," Ferb asserts. "It's hope."

Ferb briefly explains his plan to Buford, leaving out the part about Perry. I guess he still doesn't know what to make of that.

"It's a good plan," Buford decides.

"Building without Phineas?" Isabella shrieks. "You call that a good plan?"

"I call making your birthday _happy_ for once a good plan," Buford replies. "We've been stuck in grief mode for five years. It's time to lighten up a bit."

"Why?" Isabella asks.

Buford immediately goes into hysterics. "So maybe, just maybe, the cake doesn't taste like _dirt_ for once! Or so I can smile and not feel _ashamed_ about it! Maybe so that, just _once_ more, I can have _fun_ before going off to college! Perhaps so I can be _carefree_, instead of _pitiful_! Enjoy life, instead of contemplate it! How's _that_ for why?"

Isabella is speechless.

"We've had plenty of time for sentiment," Ferb agrees. "It's time to take some action."

* * *

**The plot thickens. The Buford joins. Isabella seems more and more strended on her own. The tides, I suppose, are turning.**

**~Review! If you please.**


	21. The End

**If you were hoping beyond hope that an update still might come to this story, I've got good and bad news.**

**The bad news first: that update is not coming. Instead, I have decided to leave FanFiction. Kind of like, forever. So... I'm not finishing this story. Sorry.**

**Now for the good news. You can still see my plans and betas for this story. It's on my latest piece—Goodbye. If you are desperate to know what I had planned, you can check that out.**

**I know, I know... you're disappointed. Well, at least one of you is. But please understand that I do not exist solely to please you guys, however awesome you are. There are other people—people I know more intimately—who I hold in much higher regard. I'm sure you know people like this, as well. If you do, then you can understand why those are the people to whom I choose to dedicate my time.**

**Fellas, it's been a blast. As always, Carpe Diem.**


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